eugenesis-text

econfiguration circuitry. Thunderclash felt as if his entire body had been dismantled and laid bare. He
knew that one slice of the scalpel, one wayward blade, and a neat pulse of energy would kill him instantly.
Frowning (or dribbling; it was difficult to tell), Ferrax loaded the Inhibitor Chip into a syringe gun
and pressed the radium-coated needle against the n-cluster. The microchip crashed through the protective
substratum and took root, sending urgent electropulses through the entire neural network.
Thunderclash’s brain could not process these new feelings: sense-connections had been revised, stimsynths
recalibrated, and now pain and pleasure were somehow interchangeable.
Assistant medics came forward, unlocked his manacles, fanned out and trained their weapons on him,
looking for an excuse to fire. Xenon towered over them, waiting. Thunderclash tried to listen to Ferrax,
who was mumbling something about solophyte plating, delayed reaction times and split-interfacing.
‘The Chip is now entangled with your most intimate circuitry,’ said Xenon. ‘It is a part of you. How
does it feel Like spider’s legs threaded through your skull Like a wire fire burning behind your eyes Get
used to that feeling, Thunderclash, because the Inhibitor Chip cannot be removed.’ He swished a tendril
and the guards cocked their weapons. ‘I’m going to make this simple. I’m going to tell you to do something
and if you do not obey me these guards will kill you. Are you ready, Thunderclash’
‘Nng.’
‘Transform!’
And he tried. He issued the curt mental command that he had used millions of times before, and
nothing happened. There was no gear-change, no blending metal - just an exquisite paralysis that clogged
him like honey.
Xenon pressed a gun to his head and started laughing. ‘Transform, damn you!’
Thunderclash arched his back until his spinal strut popped its socket.
He could not transform.
‘Excellent,’ said Xenon. ‘If the chip works on a Matrix Bearer it will work on anyone!’ He turned to
the crowd. ‘We begin manufacture immediately. I want the first batch beamed to Cybertron within the
next 12 hours. Everyone dismissed.’
The crowd filtered out as Ferrax re-attached Thunderclash’s manacles. Haxian looked from the
Autobot to his leader and back again. He had been rolling the following words around in his head for some
time, wondering how best to phrase them. In the end, he settled for the blunt approach.
‘Lord Xenon, I’ve heard that some Cybertronians, when seriously damaged, are unable to transform. I
fear this one’s mode-lock may not be entirely attributable to the Inhibitor Chip.’
‘I take your point. Once we have operated on Thunderclash we will repeat the experiment on the
Decepticon. He is more powerful and far less damaged.’
Thunderclash listened to them talk as Ferrax lifted his chest plate like a bonnet and started removing
circuitry. An expectant Xenon moved closer.
‘Incredible that someone such as yourself, Thunderclash, should carry an object of such crippling
power. The future of a race, of the sparkline itself, entrusted to someone who allowed himself to be
captured and experimented on. Pathetic.’ He watched Ferrax unpack the top layer of micro-components.
‘When I am in possession of the Matrix I shall do more than bury it in my chest.’
He fell silent as the last layer of circuitry was removed. Thunderclash was empty.
‘You know what’ hacked Thunderclash. ‘I think you’ve mistaken me for somebody else.’
Xenon unloaded his pistol into Thunderclash’s chest. The theatre bounced back the sound and sparks
hit the ceiling. When the clip ran dry, Xenon tossed the weapon through the Autobot’s tunnelled body and
stared at it on the floor.
‘This is not their commander, Haxian. Tell Quantax that his spies were wrong. The Matrix is still on
Cybertron, hidden in some other high-ranking Autobot.’
Haxian crossed to the door, eager to get away.
‘Have the guards bring in Galvatron,’ Xenon called after him. ‘I need to vent my frustrations.’
The Ark’s heat-dimpled inner hull twitched and simmered. In front of it, a dusty patch of recycled air
curled itself into a ball and disgorged four figures. Nightbeat, Sunstreaker, Grapple and Hoist walked into
1984 as if they were balancing on a tightrope, their faces a collision of emotions.